


But you're pretty when you cry

by Mrachna



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Deepthroating, HYDRA Trash Party, M/M, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Oral Sex, Rape, Rough Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-31 00:03:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8554906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrachna/pseuds/Mrachna
Summary: "I just slid my dick down your throat and you thanked me for it."





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is HYDRA TRASH PARTY content. Please heed the tags. Thanks to Scotchy for the early morning inspiration.
> 
> I don't have a beta; any mistakes are my own.
> 
> Song title from Pretty when you cry by VAST
> 
> I have a [Tumblr](http://mrachna.tumblr.com), come and say hello!

Brock steps through the heavy door, footsteps loud on the cold and filthy stone floor and even louder as they echo around the room. The Asset looks up from it’s space, filthy and matted brown hair falling over it’s face slightly but doesn't meet Brock's gaze - it knows it isn't allowed to meet the the eyes of superiors without a command to do so.

There's an oppressive silence heavy in the air, wrapping them up and blanketing them both. The cell that's currently The Asset's post-mission home is filthy, containing only a ratty blanket balled up in a corner, and a dirty, stinking bucket in the corner furthest away from the blanket. There are large patches of black, clinging mould spread across painted walls that were, a long time ago, new and white.

“Get up!” Rumlow barks at The Asset, who springs to its feet and lowers its eyes to Rumlow’s chest. They hold no love for life; what once was a brilliant grey has now faded and empty with no spark or light, and God, does it make Brock’s dick throb against his fatigues..

Unbuckling his belt, he stares at The Asset, relishing in its barely-masked discomfort as he slowly, slowly, drags down his zipper. With one hand fiddling inside his fly to pull out his dick - thick and circumcised - he uses his index finger to beckon The Asset closer.

There’s a slap of skin on concrete as the Asset slowly pads over to him barefoot, gentle and graceful in a way that doesn’t suit it’s murderous activities out of the cell. It’s the ballet, Rumlow notes to himself; The Asset was taught ballet in early training to enable him to move quietly and quickly. The Asset isn’t allowed shoelaces when left alone any more, after the incident in November of 1963 where they’d left it alone for a few minutes after it’s mission and came back to find a shoelace ligature wrapped around it’s neck and it’s eyes bloodshot from burst capillaries as it choked for air.

“Well? What the fuck are you staring at? Get to it. You know your worth.” Rumlow speaks with disdain, and watches as The Asset haltingly falls to its knees and leans forward to lap at the tip of Brock’s dick half-heartedly. It opens its mouth and takes the large, slightly dark head into it, trying to avoid tasting the salty, sweaty skin without being obvious. Brock swallows thickly at the sight of the world’s most powerful weapon in it’s knees. The Asset could kill him a hundred different ways, but it isn’t so powerful now - kneeling on a filthy, freezing cold floor with a cock in it’s mouth.

After a few moments it’s clear to Rumlow that The Asset is trying to half-ass it’s duties and he pulls back, grasping his cock in his left hand. He fists his right hand in The Asset’s disgusting hair and pulls tightly, feeling the way that The Asset jerks momentarily, as if it’s ingrained in it’s brain to jerk and pull away, all flight and no fight.

“That’s not what you do. Do you need me to remind you?” There’s a half-heartbeat of stillness before The Asset shakes its head in a tiny movement, scalp on fire from Rumlow’s tugging. 

“No.” It says in a monotone, knowing that a direct question requires a verbal answer. Despite the answer, Brock pulls it’s head towards his crotch, rubbing his dick over The Asset’s sore, chapped, red lips. It feels a little like soft sandpaper, in a way that makes his gut clench with arousal. The Asset allows it’s mouth to fall open as it’s eyes shut as if trying to ignore the reality of what’s going on as Rumlow pushes inside, slowly at first. When there’s a few inches inside that warm wet mouth he thrusts hard, pushing his dick down all the way down into The Asset’s throat effortlessly.

Brock’s eyes roll back into his head for a second as The Asset’s throat twitches and spasms around his length, reflexes desperately trying to push out the invader. There’s a muted choking noise from the weapon on it’s knees but all Brock can pay attention to is the way the vibrations feel around the top of his shaft.

His right hand comes down to mimic the left, tugging and pulling hard enough to separate several hairs from The Asset’s scalp, relishing in the feeling of the tug and snap as the hairs break free. 

Brock thrusts his hips a few times, staring down at The Asset and watching the way it’s face gets redder and tears well up in it’s eyes. The Asset can go longer without oxygen than most people, but eventually Rumlow has to pull back.

When he hears The Asset’s large, gasping intake of breath he shudders, furiously aroused. The air in the room is cool on his cock and he simply watches for a few moments as The Asset tries to breathe normally, throat wet and chest heaving desperately.

There’s little relief, however, as Brock pulls The Asset back into place and thrusts deeply into him, basking in the way that The Asset just takes it with no complaint. Tears are now falling freely down The Asset’s face, running in little free-flowing rivers down red cheeks and soaking into the dark curls at the base of Rumlow’s prick, close to the spot where The Asset’s nose is pressed against the skin.

Still holding The Asset’s hair, Brock thrusts roughly, over and over again, not caring about The Asset’s oxygen intake any more. He’s using the fist of Hydra as if it were nothing but a toy to fuck into and discard on the floor. 

The Asset is sobbing around Rumlow's dick now; harsh, wet sobs that bounce around the room and stay to taunt it. The panic of being unable to breathe has taken over and it thrashes desperately, fingers scrabbling at the floor as spit spills down it’s chin and onto the bulky uniform it wears. It’s looks up, it’s pupils huge from the lack of air intake.

There are some instincts that will always be ingrained in a person, no matter how much you try to beat them out in the process of making a weapon.

The Asset seems to realize it can breathe through it’s nose, because the thrashing gradually lessens a bit as Brock continues to force the Asset to keep his prick in it’s mouth. Gradually, the speed picks up as he loses rhythm, overtaken by pleasure.

“Say thank you.” Brock growls, voice rough. The Asset tries to pull away and off his dick to speak, but Rumlow only grips onto it’s hair tighter. “I didn’t say you could pull away!”

There’s the briefest moment where confusion flashes in The Asset’s eyes, until the sinking realization hits it and it’s body goes loose as if it’s given up and checked out. It’s lips move loosely, but no sound comes out.

It tries again.

Still nothing.

A third time it tries, and this time the vibrations rumble around Brock’s cock, making him groan deeply.

“‘An ‘koo.” The sound is muffled but audible and that’s good enough for Rumlow. He pulls Te Asset off his dick and rubs it across it’s cheek, smearing pre-come and saliva in it’s wake.

The Asset heaves and gags, trying to take in as much air as possible too quickly down it’s bruised throat to get rid of the lightheadedness that’s making it’s head pound and it’s vision dark at the edges. Rumlow glares at the weapon with disdain, sneering internally at the pathetic behaviour that’s unfitting for the fist of Hydra.

“Look at you. The world’s best weapon and here you are on your knees for me like a two dollar whore.” The Asset doesn’t say anything, strained muscles in it’s face shifting as it tenses it’s jaw. “Get back to it.”

The Asset does; leaning forward and taking Brock up to the hilt again, ignoring it’s on discomfort. It knows that if it works hard then this will be over soon, so it moves it’s tongue, sliding it against the sensitive underside of Rumlow’s prick. Rumlow thrusts shallowly, not needing to move a lot against the vice grip of The Asset’s throat as it gags, loosening and tightening around the unwanted intrusion. 

He can feel his orgasm building, a tight wave of pressure like a rubber band stretched tight around his balls. Just before he comes, he pulls back a little until the large, leaking, red head of his penis is just resting against the tip of The Asset’s tongue. A few more wet, careless thrusts pull him over the edge and his entire body jerks as he comes, shooting white streams of cum into The Asset’s mouth.

When the aftershocks have stopped, Brock looks down at The Asset, obediently holding his seed in it’s open mouth, trying and failing to stop it leaking down his chin. Previous experiences that lurk around in the depths of it’s subconscious remind The Asset not to swallow until commanded to. The last time it had swallowed without command isn’t clear to him, but there’s a faint prickling in the back of it’s skull that comes from the feeling of danger screaming inside it’s brain.

“You’ll keep that there for an hour. I’ll be back to check, and if you don’t still have a mouthful then the next thing you’ll suck on is this.” Rumlow pulls the stun baton from his belt and flicks his wrist to extend it, pressing it against The Asset’s bottom lip, thumb hovering threateningly over the on switch. He knows it’s impossible for The Asset to do that, and the possibilities for punishment make his flaccid cock twitch.

The Asset nods, face back to the blank mask of emotion that it always wears around it’s superiors.

“Now, what do we say when someone gives you a gift?”

“‘An ‘koo.” It’s lips move carefully, pulling tight across it’s teeth in an effort to not spill any of the cum and saliva pooling behind his bared teeth. Watching the weapon try to speak without drooling is an image that Rumlow stores away in his brain for a later time. 

"I just slid my dick down your throat," Rumlow spits vehemently as he tucks his now limp dick back into his pants and zips up, "and you thanked me for it. Disgusting."

He turns and leaves without another word, leaving The Asset to close it’s mouth against the thick mixture saliva and cum that threaten to leak out. The Asset moves back to the spot it was in before, lying down on the hard floor and pulling the ruined blanket over itself as if it would be an effective barrier against the cold it feels in it’s soul.


End file.
